


Roanoke

by yuletide_archivist



Category: National Treasure Series
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2007-12-19
Updated: 2007-12-19
Packaged: 2018-01-25 03:42:10
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,822
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1629659
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yuletide_archivist/pseuds/yuletide_archivist
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Riley and Ben running into trouble, and a boatload of historical trivia. It is a National Treasure story, after all. Bits of slash and angst, as per my recipient's request.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Roanoke

**Author's Note:**

> Oh boy, was that historical bit ever fun. It turns out writing NT fic basically centers around letting your mind work like Ben's, but to create rather than explain: pick one point, and then tie in every conceivable historical point no matter how implausible. Seriously, that is highly enjoyable for a dork! (Oh, and the eclipse date? Really does work with the history of the colony. Useless knowledge for the win!)
> 
> Written for CSI_Sanders1129

 

 

"Croatoan. Croatoan."

"...A nice little piece of dry bread you put on salads?"

Ben Gates launches into his lecture with practiced ease. "Roughly four years after Roanoke Colony was founded -- for the second time, mind you -- John White returned to the island to find that every resident had vanished. The only clue was the word 'croatoan' carved into a tree."

Squinting against the summer sun, Riley Poole unfolds his map of North Carolina, holds it to block the light, and then mutters when the opposite side bleeds through into a mess of line and color. He instead kneels on the ground. "If we're here... wait, that's the name of an island. And a sound."

"And a native tribe."

"You know, as clues go, this is kind of 'X marks the spot.'"

"You'd think, but the disappearance is still unsolved after four hundred years of searching."

Riley nods with mock sincerity. "So, that's encouraging for this latest mystery that you couldn't possibly ignore. Yes, it was just so tempting. Since, you know, it involves old things, like that gross skeleton we found on the coast. Surrounded by the slimy pieces of wood. At least there's no danger to life and limb..." He jerks and slaps at his neck. "Ow, except for how I just got malaria."

"There's no malaria in the Carolinas, Riley," Ben says, seemingly too distracted to do anything but state facts.

"Fine. Except for how I just got West Nile."

Ben considers that and says nothing as he walks further into the forest primeval. A thick blanket of pine needles masking their footfalls, he says, "Load your anagram program."

Riley doesn't bother trying. "I keep most software on my home server and log in remotely. Do you realize how many weird things we've done by this point? A terabyte's worth. You heard me."

In return, Ben doesn't bother looking over to acknowledge his complaint. "So log in."

"Yeah, it's a funny thing how these crazy disappearing colonists didn't think ahead and put in wireless support. You know, a colonial network made out of tobacco and muskets and... and spectacles." He nods at the expression he gets in return. "Ben Franklin, eyeglasses, I remember all of this."

"He'd also be a century and a half too late for Roanoke. Haven't you hacked satellites before?" At Riley's protests, Ben holds up one hand and says around an integrating smile, "Isn't it a little late to worry about what the government catches you doing? Besides, we're on their 'nice' list."

Riley mutters, but sits and rests his laptop on his knees. Tilting the heavy, cobbled-together receiver this way and that eventually turns up a signal. "Yeah, J. Edgar Hoover? Not really a good parallel for Santa Claus." Dozens of screens fly by. "Even though neither is currently walking around the planet, not that I'm trying to disappoint five year olds or anything... and I'm in." His brow furrows. "Uh, think we're on Europe's 'nice' list, too? The satellite I happened to grab is looking more Brussels than Washington, if you get my drift."

"It's fine, it's fine." Ben kneels down next to him. "Run 'croatoan' through and see what you find."

Riley does exactly that and sighs at the typically large list of options. He reads through them; Ben shoots down every one that passes his lips. When he hears the mutterings Ben is making as he tries to put the pieces together, Riley's frown deepens. "It's just a list of anagrams, Ben," he says more sharply than he means to. "Even if Abigail was here she wouldn't be helping much."

Ben looks unconvinced, with the same sort of vaguely displeased look he carries for as long as Abigail's work carries her away to any far-off conference. Riley privately thinks it makes him look constipated. "More minds working on any challenge can only make it easier to solve."

Apparently that saying about "too many cooks" isn't a piece of obscure American history, or Ben would be all over it. Riley gamely continues, "Aorta con, corona at, oar at con... think that one's promising?"

Ben's already nodding. As Riley starts thinking furiously on what "con" might be, and where colonists might have set off for in in their tiny, fragile boats, Ben continues, "Check for any eclipses that happened in 1590."

Eclipse? Corona. Right, he's always one step behind Ben's big smart brain. Riley sighs again and gets to work. "Uh... here we go. The Penny Arcade guy saw one on July 21." He sees the blank look. "Tycho Brahe. What?"

And Ben's off and running, pacing a small path as he lets his mind free associate. "'At corona.' They were noting which part of the earth saw the eclipse. No. No, it's not a _place_ , it's a _date._ A date that would only make sense to other scientists. A date that had them leaving just before officials from the continent returned. A date that, given the science of the time, they shouldn't have been able to predict... but did they?" He turns and looks to Riley for an answer; the shrug he gets seems to suffice. "The science of the time would have been much more advanced than everyone thinks, if they were able to predict that eclipse so precisely. And if they came to the island knowing what date to leave... someone back in Europe also knew when they'd be leaving. They knew... they knew to hold back the others' return until after that time. In the age of the Inquisition, scientists were working together to keep some of their own out of harm's way. Why? What had they discovered?"

Ben turns again to Riley, proud and convinced. He gets one raised eyebrow for his trouble. "A big historical conspiracy about the Catholic Church. You do realize that you're not _actually_ a character in _The Da Vinci Code_ , right?"

At just that point the tiny, high-pitched whuff of a bullet leaving a silencer slices a ribbon of crimson pain down Riley's leg.

"I'm sorry," he says dumbly when Ben has dragged him into a small cave hidden among the underbrush. The high water table has brackish muck lapping at their legs. Blood streams off his thigh to make dark flowers on its surface. "I shouldn't have criticized the Code. Next time I'll target less of a commercial success."

"Shut up, Riley," Ben hisses and covers his mouth with his hand. The voices above them aren't in English, but Ben seems to understand them anyway. He flinches hard at one exchange, looks frantic for a moment, and then slips the laptop into the water with only a few ripples. Riley doesn't bother protesting as he watches the indicator lights die one by one.

It must not be enough. Ben apologizes, orders him to take a deep breath, and drags Riley down to a deeper section. He barely has time to gasp in a breath before they're completely under the shockingly cold water and more bullets are flying in their direction. They pepper the water, soft lead breaking apart an inch down into tiny fragments of shrapnel. It's painful, getting struck by those fragments after five more feet, but not fatal. Their attackers don't seem to process this and are thankfully just the kind of lazy, half-assed thugs who don't bother to check their work. He loves lazy, half-assed thugs, Riley realizes as he returns to the surface and draws air into his burning lungs.

"You okay?" Ben demands when they've gasped for air and each made a prayer that their attackers are indeed gone.

"Not really, actually," Riley says, dazed. His leg really hurts. Salt water isn't helping. "I'm gonna guess we're not on Brussels' 'nice' list."

"Guessing not." Ben's brows dip together in that familiar way Riley knows all too well: fascination.

"No. No! Forget it!" Ignoring how Ben draws back at his vehement protests, Riley rages, "You are big American history guy, not European or religious or science history or whatever the hell this is!"

"But the Roanoke colony disappearance is one of the most enduring mysteries of... you're right. You're right. I only know what happened once they landed here. But... but for Europe, maybe Abigail would know more--"

"Of course she would! Abigail is perfect! She is perfect gorgeous history superhero woman and every time she's not able to come somewhere, you make sure I hear all about it!" Riley hisses in breaths more loudly than he means to. His leg isn't too dangerous a wound, he can tell, but goddamn it hurts more by the second. "Abby, Abby, Abby! Girl, girl, girl!"

Ben looks stunned. Beyond stunned; speechless. Riley isn't sure if he's ever managed that from the man before. And he feels bad about it, too; he likes Abigail. That's the worst of it. He has reason to hate her and he can't even manage that properly. Did he really just say "girl, girl, girl" like some kind of insult?

Only after Ben's mouth has hung dumbly open for a moment does Riley stare at the water and his blood-streaked leg and mutter, "You ever wonder why I signed up on that first stupid mission at all? For most people, if they get bored with a cubicle job they'll just start hacking or skydiving or something. They don't say that they'll agree to go off on a ship hunt in the Arctic. Where it is really, really cold. In case you hadn't noticed." He risks looking up. "Even though your face is all squashed or something, I dunno. And your superiority complex is only attractive about half the time."

Soft, echoed waves lap against the walls to break the silence. Riley shifts his weight, quickly shifts it back onto his uninjured leg, and asks, "You're not the most emotive man in the world, are you?"

"Riley. I... damn, why didn't you say something before this? Anything? At... any point before we were hiding in a seawater-filled cave, hoping not to get shot by some Europeans hoping to protect... protect whatever it is they're hiding?"

Riley studies him for a long, awkward moment. "You're already trying to figure out what to research to figure out who they are."

Ben's eyes flash with shame before he protests that no, he's not.

"Hey. I get you by now. Spent enough time on the run with only you to talk to, right?" He forces a pained smile. Those thigh muscles are going to be screaming at him long after he gets stitches, he can tell. "Can't help what we focus in on."

"I'll go up and check to make sure they're completely gone," Ben eventually says. "And we'll get you to an emergency room."

When he's left alone in the cave, Riley takes the time and pain needed to find his destroyed laptop, with its rough case peppered with scratches and scrapes and countless rough calls from all their shared travels.

 


End file.
